


The Enchanted Ring

by sevenpm



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, BUT THERE'S A DRAGON, CHESS PLAYING, Deception, Dragons, F/M, FAIRYTALE CLICHES, Fairy Tales, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm sorry this is getting out of hand I'm done, M/M, Mystery, OK NOW WE'RE DONE HERE, OK WELL JUST ONE, ROMANCE CLICHES, Romance, because fairytale, for real this is almost entirely comprised of cliches, forgot that one, lol jk it's not mysterious, looking at my choices, looking at my life, no wait, oh god I wrote a fairytale, ok NOW we're done, shit no wait
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-03 12:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenpm/pseuds/sevenpm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the ruthless King Sebastian decides he is to have the coveted, unsurpassed beauty the White Queen as his bride, charming and clever court-favorite Charles Xavier of Westchester Estate volunteers to be the ambassador to her kingdom. His task does not go smoothly - the White Queen is not won over so easily - and after he nearly meets his end trying to fulfill one of her wishes, he instead finds himself becoming acquainted with a reserved, yet hospitable stranger who calls himself Erik.  At the center of everything lies the unassuming little ring the White Queen bestowed upon him for good luck; but the ring is far more than it seems - and so, Charles learns, is Erik.</p><p>Based (loosely) on The Story of Pretty Goldilocks/<i>La Belle aux Cheveux d'or</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so I decided to make my contribution to the fandom by writing a fairytale about Charles and Erik!
> 
> \--oh god  
> what am I doing  
> a fairytale jesus I'm so sorry what is this even
> 
> OK WE'RE BACK YES. I mentioned this is based (er, rather _loosely_ ) on the Story of Pretty Goldilocks, a personal favorite of mine. Specifically I referenced the Longmeadow Press edition, and you would not BELIEVE how easy it was to combine the major plot points of XMFC with the original fairytale - some dialogue was so applicable I was able to include it mostly unchanged - and I recommend you check out the original story, it's tons of fun! 
> 
> Of course my own story veers HEAVILY from the original plot around halfway through, and more or less becomes its own thing (including Raven Being a Troll and 100000% more gay), but I hope you will enjoy it nonetheless! I have a few chapters pretty much finished already (next will be up later today), and I'll be posting them once I clean them up! Huzzah!

Once upon a time there was a princess – no, rather, a Queen, though not by choice – who was one of the loveliest creatures in the whole world. And because she was so beautiful, and because her flaxen locks so delicately framed her graceful, pale face, and because she was never seen wearing anything but the most exquisite, purest whites, she was known only as the White Queen. She always wore a crown of gleaming diamonds, and the same was embroidered in her dresses, and every man who saw her fell in love with her. 

Now, one of her neighbors was a king who was not married. He certainly didn’t lack for wealth, and had an incisive, cunning mind, so when he had heard the stories of the White Queen, he knew he had to have her. 

At first it was almost surely the pursuit of more power that drove King Sebastian, but the longer he dreamt of the White Queen at his side, though he had never even seen her, he fell so deeply in love with her that he withdrew to his blue hall of mirrors (his favorite of his rooms) and no one could convince him to leave, not for food nor drink. A most worrisome week was spent this way, the court hemming and hawing over what to do with their lovestruck sovereign, when all at once King Sebastian himself suddenly appeared at his throne, a steely, resolute expression gracing his features, and announced that he had resolved to send an ambassador to ask her hand in marriage.

His people rejoiced, and lavish preparations were made for the ambassador’s journey over to the White Queen’s kingdom. A splendid carriage bedecked in pearls and diamonds was made for the White Queen’s return, once she inevitably accepted his proposal. King Sebastian gave the ambassador more than a hundred horses and a hundred servants, and told him to be sure and spare no request of the White Queen after she consented to marry him. So confident was the king in his plan that he set his best seamstresses and tailors to work at magnificent dresses that might be ready by the time the queen arrived. 

Meanwhile the ambassador chosen by King Sebastian to entice the White Queen arrived at her palace and presented his delightful entourage and described the many pleasures and benefits of marrying his master, but whether she happened to be cross that day, or whether the compliments did not please her, is not known. She answered that she was very much obliged to the king, but had no wish to be married. 

Nothing short of what was decidedly a very kingly tantrum followed the ambassador’s return (and no one ever _did_ see that ambassador again), and all subsequent attempts to entice the White Queen ended in similar failure. Azazel, the king’s chancellor and militarist, was too brusque and indelicate, the king reasoned, and Janos, palace advisor, had no way with words. 

A panic began to set in the court when they recognized the building fury in King Sebastian’s eyes, and fearing another war, brought about by his insatiable temper, the court set about finding a diversion, anything, that might distract the king from his rejection. All dreaded a repeat of the terrible campaign King Sebastian had led in his youth, when he had been far too naive and reckless to rule a kingdom.

Now, there was at the court a young man who was so kind and bright and gentle and lovely that he was called Charming, although he preferred his given name, Charles. (He had also heard himself called ‘Professor’ due to his cleverness and love of learning, which often left Charles wondering exactly how many monikers he had among the court.) It was Charles who boldly approached the king, quietly seething in his throne, stood before him, and with a courteous bow, said the following: 

“Your Majesty, if you would send me to the White Queen, I am sure she would come back with me.” 

A low gasp filled the court, and King Sebastian sat up at once, his sharp eyes narrowing. He leaned forward, one hand clenching his knee. 

“And what exactly,” He asked a little too quietly, “makes you think you posses the power to succeed in this where all of my attempts have failed?”

But Charles was not afraid. “I should draw such a picture of you,” he answered evenly, “and would represent your good qualities in such a way that I am certain the White Queen should find you irresistible.” 

This time a silence fell upon the court. Though not physically imposing, Charles cut a persuasive figure standing on the cool stone of the throne room. His chestnut brown hair fell in waves around his youthful face, and a confident smile curved his lips, reaching his bright blue eyes, which crinkled at the edges just slightly. 

King Sebastian sat back thoughtfully in his gilded throne, never moving his eyes from Charles. It was true that this young man was generally beloved throughout his kingdom, the king acknowledged to himself. And it was true that he had heard of Charles’ praises before, of his empathetic, giving nature; how he was perceptive of other’s emotions and that many came to him for counsel on various dilemmas. 

After a terrible silence that surely had everyone present holding their breath, King Sebastian’s mouth split into a wide grin (perhaps a little unsettling), and he said:

“You know I love the White Queen as much as ever. Her refusal has not made any difference to me; but I don’t know how to change her mind. I should like to send you, to see if you can indeed persuade her to marry me.” 

Charles beamed back brightly, his own smile somehow a gentle reprieve from that of the King’s. 

“I should be perfectly willing to go, your Majesty.” He replied, but did not miss the dangerous flash of his King’s eyes. 

“Excellent,” replied the King, his wide smile doing very little to hide the threat in his countenance, “but the consequences for your failure, if you do not succeed after all, would be very dire indeed.” 

But still Charles was not afraid. “Certainly, my Lord.” His smile had not faded. 

There was one more agonizing pause before the King’s grin became much less frightening.

“Well!” Said King Sebastian joyfully, standing up with a loud clap of his hands, “Then you shall set out as soon as I have assembled a grand escort for you.” 

But Charles said that he only wanted a good horse to ride, and the king, delighted at his being ready to start so promptly, gave him letters to the queen and bade him good speed the very next day. 

It was a sunny morning that Charles set out all alone upon his errand, contemplating nothing but how he might persuade the queen to marry his master. It was such a lovely morning, in fact, that it gave him quite a surprise to see it turn into such a dreadful afternoon, the great forest becoming grey and gloomy. To make matters worse, it began to thunder and the rain poured down as night started to fall, making it difficult to find his way. 

It was while trying to direct his horse to somewhere drier that Charles heard the piercing shriek of a bird, and looked up to see a raven in great distress. The poor bird was being closely pursued by an eagle, and as Charles shielded his eyes from the rain to get a closer look, a flash of lightening lit a fine beam between the trees, illuminating the struggle. 

Charles’ eyes widened as the light flashed over the raven, revealing it to be feathered a deep royal blue, instead of the usual black. 

For a brief moment his heart tightened, and Charles shook his head, feeling foolish. There was no reason for this poor creature to remind him of his sister, an abandoned faerie child Charles had found hiding in his pantry when he himself was still a child all those years ago. She had been starving, terrified, and alone when Charles came upon her, clutching a poker from the hearth for protection after hearing a clatter from downstairs. 

His heart had gone out to her, Charles himself being no stranger to feeling scared, alone, and abandoned even in the vast, busy confines of his own estate. A distant, inebriate mother and a cruel stepfather had left him starved for affection, so it was with no hesitation that Charles took in the faerie child as his own family. 

She called herself Raven, and her natural form was a captivating sapphire blue; her hair a fiery red; her eyes a vivid yellow, but Charles soon learned with delight that Raven was a shapeshifter, and could take on any form she pleased. This made it especially easy to convince his mother that she was nothing but the child of a servant, as Raven took on a human form for the rest of the household. His mother had only waved her wine glass dismissively and never given it second thought after that. 

And it was thus many happy years were spent with Raven, whom Charles saw as his sister as though she’d been his own flesh and blood. 

This is why it came as a terrible shock the morning Raven disappeared. Charles searched the great manor frantically and called out her name until he was hoarse. He tore across the vast lands of his estate, imagining her mischievously hiding behind some fountain or statue, but to no avail. He finally collapsed in his bed that night, inconsolable. It was then he turned his head and found a single piece of paper lying on his pillow. Upon picking it up to read it, he found it said only this:

 _Thank you, Charles._

The lettering was unmistakable – it was Raven’s broad, loopy strokes that Charles himself had patiently taught her, pretending he didn’t notice her plotting ways to distract him and sneak away. 

And so Charles cursed himself for thinking he could keep a faerie child all to himself forever, for thinking that he could somehow offer a better life to her in the cold, suffocating walls of his household than the Outside; the forests and fields that reflected her free, open spirit; the fact she really belonged anywhere but trapped in his estate with him; the fact that he had forced her to deny her own nature for so long.

But worst of all Charles hated himself for hating her that night, for finding himself overcome with jealousy at her easy freedom, for giving him no warning, no hint she might disappear, for— for—

For leaving him all alone again. 

The sobs he muffled into his pillow that night were the last he would ever spend on anyone else, he vowed. 

And so it was when his mother finally succumbed to her spirits, and his stepfather to an alchemy experiment gone awry; leaving him well and truly all alone, Charles had not a single tear for them to shed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles receives his final task from the White Queen.

It was these thoughts that whirled through his mind as he watched the curiously blue creature that shared a name with his sister struggle with the larger bird. Charles was no longer angry at Raven, though it had only been a few years since she had vanished. Instead, he simply missed her with a somber ache that he now felt tightening around his chest as he took pity on the raven. 

Not wishing to injure the eagle, Charles quickly fitted two arrows to his bow and carefully aimed for the areas around the eagle’s head and talons. Frightened by the threat of a larger predator, the eagle swooped off into the night, the rain eventually drowning out its shrill calls. 

Charles settled back on his horse and was contemplating the best way out of the storm when he lifted his eyes and noticed the deep blue raven hovering only inches from his nose. It seemed to be studying his face with some manner of amazement.

His gasp of surprise nearly unbalanced him off of his horse, but the greatest astonishment came next, when the raven, cocking its head, opened its beak and spoke to him.  
“I thank you for the kindness you have done me,” she said, beginning to fly upwards. “You have saved my life; one day I will repay you.” 

“What—” Charles supposed that a raven that could talk was not so surprising when he had grown up with a girl who could shapeshift into a pony if she pleased, but he still found himself gaping. “Please wait, I—” he began again, but the raven interrupted. 

“The palace you seek is that way,” she said, jerking her feathered head to his right. “Follow the stream until it splits in two, then go left.” She flew several feet higher, and then soared off into the night. Charles thought he saw her eyes flashing yellow before she disappeared, a low roll of thunder sounding high above, but he shook his head vigorously, convinced that his journey had made him overtired.

“Thank you,” he said to the empty air above him, and set off on his way, eager to get out of the rain. 

This adventure was the only one of any consequence that befell Charles on his journey, and he made all the haste he could to reach the palace of the queen, finding it within the hour thanks to the helpful instructions of the raven. 

When he finally arrived he thought everything he saw delightful and magnificent. Diamonds were as plentiful as pebbles, and the silks and sweetmeats and pretty things that were everywhere amazed him. He thought to himself, “If the queen consents to leave all this and come with me to marry the king, he may think himself lucky!”

The queen’s numerous servants greeted him and graciously allowed him a night to rest and recover from his tiring journey, as well bathe himself from the battering of the storm (which had left him looking rather as though he’d swum over instead of come by horseback). 

The next morning, thoroughly rested and washed, Charles dressed himself carefully so as to give the best possible impression, and presented himself at the great doors of the throne room, where the White Queen sat serenely awaiting an audience with him. 

Charles’ first thought upon seeing the White Queen was that all the rumors were indeed true. She was a woman of an almost otherworldly beauty – her golden hair fell in soft waves, her porcelain skin almost seemed to glow, and her dress was of the finest white gossamer, strewn with diamonds all around the bodice. 

Charles immediately bent on one knee and bowed low. The queen waved a translucent-sleeved arm for him to rise, and Charles stood, placing what he hoped was one of his most winning smiles upon his face.

“Your highness,” he said, “I am Charles Xavier, of the Westchester Estate. I thank you profusely for your audience, and for your most excellent and unparalleled hospitality to this simple ambassador. I bring you greetings from the illustrious King Sebastian and all his kingdom.” 

“Certainly, the pleasure is mine,” responded the White Queen with a graceful smile. There was a twinkle in her eye as though she was perhaps holding back a laugh, and Charles imagined that it must be very tiring indeed to sit through as many proposals as she had. 

Yet Charles delivered his carefully worded harangue anyhow, bravely ending by entreating the queen to spare him the disappointment of going back without her. 

The White Queen sat through all of this patiently, allowing him to finish without interruption before she answered. 

“Sir Charles,” she began, “all the reasons you have given me are very good ones, and I assure you that I should have great pleasure in obliging you, but you should know that a month ago, as I was walking by the stream with my ladies I took off my glove, and as I did so a ring that I was wearing slipped off my finger and rolled into the water.” She lifted her hand and spanned her slender digits, showing Charles her bare finger. 

“The ring belonged to my elder brother, whom I hold most dear. Surely I still miss him as much as the day I lost him.” 

Again Charles felt his heart give a familiar clench at her words, remembering that the White Queen too, had lost a dear sibling. He still remembered the day he had heard the news that the young, grieving princess of the neighboring kingdom had to accede to the throne after the sudden passing of her elder brother, not a year after the tragic deaths of her parents. 

The queen’s pale blue eyes were sharp as she watched Charles’ expression. “Perhaps you too understand the grief of one taken from you too soon.” 

He found it difficult to hide his astonishment at the White Queen’s startling observance, his eyes widening. “My Lady is not only beautiful, but perceptive as well,” he answered with a sad smile. 

The queen returned the gesture, a soft curve of her lips. “Then you can imagine how vexed I was at losing his ring, as I valued it more than my kingdom. I vowed never to listen to any proposal of marriage unless the ambassador first brought me back my ring. So now you know what is expected of you, for if you talked for fifteen days and fifteen nights you could not make me change my mind.”

Charles was very much surprised at the queen’s answer and her odd request, but found himself empathizing with her reasoning. The White Queen had been lucky enough to retain some meaningful physical memento of her brother; Charles imagined if he had had something similar of Raven’s, he would regard it much the same way. 

Thanking the queen with a bow, Charles offered her his king’s letters and gifts, although the queen graciously refused all of the latter. When he returned to his room, Charles collapsed on his bed and sighed heavily.

“What a sentimental fool I am! How am I to find a ring that fell into the stream a month ago?” he lamented. “It is very nearly useless to try; the queen must have told me to do it on purpose, knowing it was impossible.” He sighed again, but resolved to go back to the stream as soon as it was light. Not long after, he fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of snowy white ravens and a queen wearing gowns of deep royal blue. 

At the first glimmer of dawn Charles awoke and set out into the forest with renewed resolve. He walked up and down the edge of the stream for much of the day, before collapsing underneath a nearby tree, defeated. 

“This is hopeless!” he moaned, burying his head in his hands. With this failure, Charles knew he would have to return to his kingdom without the queen, at great detriment to himself. But what else could he do? 

As he slowly rose to his feet, brushing the dirt from his legs, he thought he heard a familiar voice calling him, however distant. He spun in a circle, seeking out the source of the sound, but saw no one. The call grew louder, however: 

“Charles! Charles!”

“Who calls me?” He asked the forest, feeling a little absurd. 

“ _Charles!_ ” He heard again, this time quite loudly, and was bowled over backwards onto his behind when a dark flapping object planted itself mere inches from his face. Looking up, Charles was delighted to see the blue raven from the previous night flitting about, somehow wearing a very impatient expression for a bird. 

“I was beginning to think you had gone deaf, honestly!” said the raven, fluttering gracefully onto his knee. “Hello, Charles.” Her tone held a curiously familiar echo of affection.

“Hello, blue raven.” Charles couldn’t keep a grin off of his face. “Terribly sorry. It is not often I am addressed by a talking forest creature.” 

“Perhaps that is something you ought to grow accustomed to, then.” Answered the raven, with no small amount of laughter in her voice. But then she grew quite serious. “You saved my life the other night, and I have not forgotten my promise to repay you.” 

Before Charles could respond, the raven was off, soaring over the stream, and then diving quite gracefully into the water before resurfacing. She carried something shiny in her beak. 

“Take this,” she said, dropping the glimmering object into Charles’ lap. “It is the White Queen’s ring.” 

Charles was flabbergasted. “I cannot thank you enough,” he said a little breathlessly, “I rather feel as though I owe you a favor in return!”

The raven cocked her head, and Charles imagined that she might be smiling. “It’s no difficult task for a raven to find a shiny object,” she responded. “And you owe me nothing. This is hardly payment enough for saving my life.” 

Charles must have thanked her a thousand times, so utterly grateful for her help was he. But the raven only shook her head, and met his gaze.

“No,” she said, quite firmly. “ _Thank you_ , Charles.”

Charles froze. He had heard those words from her before, hadn’t he? 

Hadn’t he?

But no, the very idea – this was a creature he’d never seen before two days ago. And she was thanking him for saving her life. Still…

Charles looked up, but the raven had already taken off into the trees. 

“Wait!” Called Charles, the thought only occurring to him as her blue wings disappeared behind the canopy, “How did you know my name?” 

But Charles was only met with silence. 

After a moment’s pause he resolved not to let such matters distract him, and instead turned over the queen’s ring in his hand, still a little dumbfounded at his luck.

The ring was fashioned entirely of metal, although it didn’t seem to be especially rare or precious. It lacked in any design save for the letter ‘E’ engraved upon it. _For ‘Emma,_ ’ Charles’ mind immediately supplied, and he blinked briefly in confusion. Who was Emma? And the ring had belonged to a man – her older brother, of course, the late King. What nonsense. He shook his head and looked back to the ring, glinting in the dappled sunlight.

It had a wide, simple band and Charles thought with a sad smile how it must certainly be too big for the White Queen’s slender fingers. Its previous owner had very clearly been a man with large, powerful hands. 

Pocketing the ring very carefully, Charles headed back to the palace in triumph. After giving word that he wished for an audience with the queen once more, he was escorted to the throne room. 

The attendant who led him in, a petite, dark-haired young woman with an elaborate marking that laced across her shoulders, left the great hall to notify Her Highness. A large window nearly the size of the wall shed scattered sunbeams through the glass into the room, which Charles admired anew in the vividly colorful dying light of the sun. Nearby, a young man with a wild mop of red hair hummed softly while plucking the strings of a lute. 

When the queen was once again seated upon her throne of ivory and diamond, she asked, her brows knit in confusion:

“Surely you do not wish to bid me farewell without at least staying the night? There is no need for you to begin your journey home by dusk.” 

Charles found it quite difficult to suppress his grin. “Certainly not, my Lady.” he said, “And I was hoping you might be joining me on my journey home, anyhow.” 

With this, he presented her with the ring. “Your highness, I have done your bidding. Will it please you to marry my master?” 

The look of total astonishment on the White Queen’s face was quite out of place compared to the composed expression she usually wore. All at court gave a delighted gasp. 

“Truly, Charles,” she said, her smile radiant as she returned the ring to her finger, “you must be the favorite of some faerie, or you could never have found it.” 

Charles stilled, and the queen seemed to be watching him very carefully. 

“My lady,” answered he, “I was helped by nothing but my desire to obey your wishes.” 

The White Queen only gave him a knowing smile, and continued. 

“Since you are so kind,” said she, “perhaps you will do me another service, for till it is done I will never be married. Not far from here there is a deep cave, the entrance to which is guarded by a fierce dragon with scales as hard as rock, and will not allow anyone to pass him. When you get into the cavern you will find an immense fissure, which you must go down and there find the Fountain of Eternal Love, which grants any two individuals in love who drink it eternal happiness together.” 

“My Queen,” said Charles, his heart sinking, “you at least would have no need of this enchanted water once you have married my gracious master, and while I have been trained in rudimentary swordsmanship as all nobles, I am certainly not skilled enough to take on a bloodthirsty dragon. I am an unhappy ambassador whose death you desire.”

“I have every faith in you.” The White Queen replied, apparently unmoved. 

Charles knew now that he had very little choice. The sad outcome seemed to be the same no matter what he might decide – whether battling a fearsome dragon or facing the wrath of King Sebastian. 

“I will go where you send me,” he finally responded, trying to stem the despondency in his voice, “though I shall likely not return.” 

But the queen showed no signs of relenting in her request. She did however, lean forward and open his palm, dropping into it her beloved ring.

Charles eyes’ flickered between the ring and the queen in confusion. “Your highness, wh—”

“Take this with you for good luck.” She interjected, closing his fingers around it. 

“But—” He began again, stunned, but a final gesture from the queen signaled the end of the conversation. 

Slowly, Charles curled his fingers around the ring. He raised his head to meet eyes with the queen, but her gaze told him nothing. As he bid her goodbye to return to his room for one last night of respite, he heard the whispers of the court as he passed:

“What a pity that a charming young man should throw away his life so carelessly! He is going to the cavern alone, though if he had a hundred men with him he should not succeed. Why does the queen ask such impossibilities?”

But Charles said nothing, and returned to his room for the last time, feeling much like a prisoner set for execution in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GREAT have fun with that dragon charles you sound super capable
> 
> (next chapter should be up soon, y'all!)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There be dragons.

Again at dawn Charles rose, though it could not be said that he had slumbered at all. It mattered very little, however; the roiling fear settled low in his stomach left him feeling quite awake. 

Deciding to forego the sorry task of wishing everyone goodbye, Charles mounted his horse and made his way towards the cavern. 

When he had traveled for a time and neared a hill, Charles dismounted to let his horse graze. He knew he could not be far from the gloomy cave, and surveying his surroundings proved his speculation correct when he spotted a thick black smoke furling into the sky. He reached his hand into his pocket and clutched the ring, the solid metal feeling like an anchor against his fear. 

“Give me strength,” he whispered. 

Charles continued forward until he reached the source of the acrid smoke. An enormous dragon guarded the cavern, nostrils emitting the dark fumes as it prowled before the cave’s entrance. His body was long and green, with black scales lining every limb, and his tail was so long that it lay in at least twenty coils. 

For a moment Charles was so struck with terror that he could not move a muscle; but presently he gathered his courage and, after quickly grasping the ring, walked towards the terrible beast and drew his sword.

Charles tried to ignore the heavy, unfamiliar weight of the weapon and how strange and unpracticed it felt in his hands. The sound of its unsheathing had turned the dragon’s fiery red eyes on him, and the fumes that left its nostrils suddenly doubled, great tufts of smoke rising into the air. It rose slowly on its haunches, a low growl accompanying the motion. 

Charles steeled himself, gripping his sword until his knuckles were white. A quick study convinced him to attack from the tail, still coiled – and the furthest point from the head, which was now spewing sparks of fire as well. A well-aimed hit might serve as a distraction long enough for Charles to sneak into the cavern. 

His plan of attack decided, Charles chose not to linger on it, making all efforts to ignore the hopelessness of the ordeal. He charged at the tail, directing his sword at a segment without the rough black scales contouring it. 

It all happened very fast – the dragon lashed out the tip of its tail, the thinnest part, and wrapped it swiftly around Charles’ left ankle. With a sickening twist Charles was lifted into the air and cracked back down like a whip. A white-hot stab of pain shot through his entire body as he felt a snap that he distantly assumed was his ankle breaking. 

His head was swimming and the side he’d landed on was throbbing. A trickle of blood was already making a trail down his temple. Determinedly ignoring the shooting pain in his ankle, Charles scrambled away and recovered his sword from where it had been thrown. 

“I don’t suppose,” he muttered, gritting his teeth against the pain, “that you’d agree to talking this out over a cup of tea.” 

The dragon lifted his great head and let out a roar, and Charles wondered if maybe it had understood him. 

“Didn’t think you would,” he bit out, and ran at the dragon’s foot. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the massive tail uncoiling further. Lifting the obsidian point high into the air, the beast thrust its tail down at Charles with terrifying speed. 

Charles rolled out of harm’s way in the nick of time, feeling the ripple of air surrounding the blow. Well, perhaps not _exactly_ the nick of time – the dragon had managed to rip the cloth of his sleeve from his elbow to his collar. 

But Charles spent no time lamenting the superficial damage. He had rolled within striking distance of the creature’s back leg, and, grabbing his sword with both hands, sank it into the monster’s foot with as much force as he could muster. 

The dragon’s resounding roar was deafening; pillars of flame propelled from its mouth and nostrils. Charles’ eyes watered at the smoke beginning to surround him, and he coughed as he felt it filling his lungs. 

But this was his opportunity – Charles began a beeline for the cavern’s entrance when he felt the rough, scaly coils of the monster’s tail wrap around his middle, lifting him high into the air. He tried to grab for his sword, anything for leverage; but the beast had pinned his arms to his side. He twisted uselessly in its grasp, idly wondering who would find his body, and how they might report his death to the queen, and his own king. Hopefully it would not be too gruesome for them. Hopefully they would not be able to tell that the dragon had defeated him using its tail alone. Charles almost wanted to laugh.

The dragon was lifting him so they were at eye level. Charles cried out in pain as the tightening coils began to crush against his ribs, his ankle aching at the pull of gravity. Again he struggled in vain against the tail, the dragon merely watching him as a cat toying with its prey might have. 

His breath was coming out in ragged, short gasps. It was becoming far too difficult to struggle, and Charles felt himself going limp in the tail’s tightening grip. As his vision began to darken, Charles had a thought that it was rather fitting he had no one to weep for his death when he himself could no longer cry for another. 

All sounds were becoming more muted, softer; everything seemed very distant. He fancied he could hear the shout of another human being, though certainly the closest anyone could be was thousands of miles away. 

But the shouting persisted. Charles almost wished it might go away, so that he could return to the peaceful, muffled quiet of moments before, but instead the sudden bloodcurdling roar of the dragon penetrated through his skull. 

Almost instantly he felt very strange, as though he were weightless. With a painful gasp Charles noted that he now seemed to be back on the ground, but his head was swimming. The dragon was quiet now – he was somehow being pulled away from his battleground. There was a sturdy pressure on his shoulders. And the voice was loud, much louder than it had been only moments ago. 

“ _Hey!_ ” 

Charles’ eyes snapped open. He thought he saw the shape of a man, but the piercing sunlight behind him rendered the figure only a dark silhouette. Yet the hands round his shoulders were big and strong, and Charles somehow felt quite safe. It was with this peace that he finally let himself succumb to the comforting darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I TOLD YOU THERE WAS A DRAGON.
> 
> sorry this chapter's so short! but it's just so ACTION-PACKED I thought that might make up for it. next oughta be up soon enough!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles has a most eventful acquaintance.

Charles recalled very little of the next few days, save for the fact that he seemed to ache in every inch of his body. He was aware that he was slipping between fevered dreaming and wakefulness, though he couldn’t tell the two apart; and that there was often another presence, murmuring comforting and encouraging sounds and from time to time supporting his head long enough to let him drink from a water vessel. 

The night he awoke from yet another nightmare of constriction – walls closing in on him from every side, his breath sucked out of him – Charles shot up in bed. He immediately regretted doing so, groaning as his ribs protested mightily. 

He looked down at himself and couldn’t help but cringe. His ribs were mottled with bruises, colored purple and grey and yellow, and he counted numerous cuts all over his torso and arms. The worst of them, a laceration wrapping around his right side, was cleanly bandaged with a cloth. None of his ribs appeared broken, he noted with relief. 

Charles pulled the blanket aside to check his ankle, which seemed oddly stiff, and found it neatly wrapped and splinted. His pant leg had been ripped away to his knee. Charles idly wondered where his shirt was, now observing the matching cuts on both sides of his shoulders. 

How peculiar, to have corresponding injuries on either side of him, he thought, examining them closer. And so oddly shaped, too, almost like a pattern where something had pressed against him quite hard. Shaped a little like the scales of an animal, he mused, almost admiring the pattern. Like the scales of—

Charles’ memories suddenly returned, crashing back down with all the subtlety of an earthquake. The dragon! The White Queen’s request, the raven, the _ring_ – he automatically slipped his hand into his pocket and sighed with relief when he felt the cool metal beneath his fingers.

He had been moments away from death at the beast’s hands. What on earth had happened? Where _was_ he? 

Charles finally took the time to peer at his surroundings, finding himself in what appeared to be a small, sparsely furnished cabin. He ran his hands gently over his bandages. Was this the dwelling of whoever had dressed his wounds? 

He shivered a little with the night chill, a fact he noted by peering out a small window on the wall, the dark silhouettes of the trees gently swaying. Turning his head, he found his shredded tunic placed on the back of a chair situated close to the bed. Deciding it was better than nothing, Charles slowly pulled it back on, wincing as his ribs and arms ached with his movement. 

Slowly maneuvering his legs over the edge of the bed, Charles decided to have a look around, determined to find the individual he likely owed his life to. A quick glance about the room revealed a knotted stick about four or five feet tall, leaning on the wall. Charles hopped over to it on one foot using the wall for support, grasping it to use as a crutch while he explored the small cabin. 

There wasn’t much to explore, he found. The room he had been in had a bed, a chair, and a table. An open doorway connected it to another area, which Charles hobbled over to slowly, the wooden floor creaking beneath him. 

This room had a hearth, above which hung a small cauldron. There was a large armchair covered in furs placed before it. Charles turned his head to observe the rest of the small living space and froze. 

A man was asleep at a table, his head resting on folded arms. His position seemed decidedly uncomfortable, as though he had been trying to stay awake before finally succumbing to his fatigue. 

Charles slowly limped over to him. He was mostly blanketed in shadow, but another window on the opposing wall allowed a beam of moonlight to illuminate his features slightly. 

He was young, possibly only a few years older than Charles. Even in sleep, his eyebrows were knitted with unease, or possibly discomfort at his less than desirable sleeping position. The outline of his figure revealed broad shoulders and a muscular build. A lock of hair fell onto his forehead. 

Charles felt he ought to let him sleep, but found his hand moving towards the man’s shoulder anyhow. 

“Hello?” He said uncertainly, lightly jostling the man’s arm. 

All at once Charles cried out with a mix of pain and surprise as he felt his legs swept out from under him. The knotted stick hit the ground with a loud thud. He was slammed face first onto the floor, gasping as he felt the gash on his side sting and his ribs throb. A dagger was being held flush against his neck, and he could feel his pulse beating wildly against it. His hands were pinned together behind his back in a vise-like grip. 

“Who are you and what are you doing in my home,” growled the man, voice low and dangerous. 

Charles took in a sharp breath, his heart pounding violently. “Please, calm your mind,” he attempted, completely restrained by the iron-like hold on his wrists. 

The dagger pressed slightly closer against his skin. “I’m Charles,” he continued quickly, “and I was rather hoping _you_ could tell me exactly what I’m doing in your home, as I woke up here with no recollection of how I arrived.” The cut on his side smarted quite fiercely, and Charles suspected it had reopened. 

The dagger fell to the floor with a clatter, and the grip pinning his wrists released immediately. Broad hands now gentle on his shoulders (somehow familiar) slowly turned him so that they were facing each other. 

The shadows obscuring the features of his face did little to hide the guilt and panic in the man’s expression. 

“You’re awake,” he said, more to himself than Charles, his eyes scanning him up and down rapidly. “You’re bleeding.” He added, his eyes falling on Charles’ side, a dark red stain slowly soaking through the fabric.

Charles was about to note with some annoyance that he was well aware of both observations, but the man lifted his head and locked eyes with him.

“I’m sorry.” He said, his voice gruff, but Charles heard the genuine sentiment behind it. 

“It’s all right,” he responded, softly. “I’m fine. But please tell me, what happened? How did I get here? Where are we? And who are you, what is your name?”

The man didn’t respond, instead reaching behind Charles to pick up his dagger, placing it back into a sheath on his belt. 

“You shouldn’t be walking around, yet. You need to rest.” The man said, and Charles gasped as he felt an arm reach under his knees and around his back, lifting him into the air. Instinctively Charles grappled at the man’s neck for balance. 

“W-wha—” Charles stammered, grateful for the darkness now concealing the flush rising in his face. 

“Where are you taking me?” He asked indignantly as the man carried him back towards the other room. “You didn’t answer any of my questions, and I still don’t even know who you—”

“Tomorrow.” The man interrupted, carefully depositing him back onto the bed. He disappeared for a moment, and returned with a roll of cloth and a damp piece of linen. Charles let out a rather unmanly squawk of surprise when the man pushed up his shirt without warning, but he was (thankfully) ignored in favor of his now bloodied bandage being removed, wound dabbed clean, and deftly rewrapped in minutes. The level of skill and efficiency at which the man worked briefly silenced Charles as he watched the broad hands pin the end of his bandage together. 

“Erik.” The man said suddenly, and Charles lifted his eyes to look at him questioningly. 

“My name is Erik.” He clarified, standing up to leave the room. 

“O-oh, pleased to meet you, Erik, but—” Of all the hundreds of questions Charles wanted answered, he rather felt like a fool for what he ended up settling on. “—but where will you sleep?” 

Erik paused and turned back to Charles, wordlessly gesturing towards the fur-covered chair in the other room. 

“Ah. But that—” He started, but Erik turned to face him fully, the ghost of a smile moonlit on his lips. 

“Goodnight, Charles.” And with that, Erik left the room. 

“Oh…goodnight.” Charles couldn’t help feeling a little overwhelmed. For someone who spoke so little, Erik had quite a way with words.

But Charles did feel rather exhausted from the night’s events, and he was grateful to lay down again, the pillow cool and soft under his head. He soon drifted back to sleep, mind whirling with thoughts of the mysterious man called Erik.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so that totally mysterious guy turned out to be Erik WHO EVEN SAW THAT COMING, AMIRITE?? did I not just blow your minds don't bother answering that
> 
> aaand as usual, more on the way, and soon! :'D thanks _so_ much to everyone who's been reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles makes an interesting discovery.

Charles’ eyes flew open to the sound of a loud metallic clatter. It took him a moment to get his bearings as he stared at the ceiling, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. As he rested his hand on his stomach, he felt the neatly wrapped cloth bandaging his wound, and rather irrationally felt his face go a bit red. Erik.

And that was really all he knew of the enigmatic fellow whom he had most eventfully acquainted himself with last night. Erik. Just the man’s name. He had barely even seen his face, shadowed as it was in the thin moonlight. 

But Charles trusted him, irresponsible though it would seem to anyone else. Raven had always said he had a particular talent for reading people, even at first glance, and he had to admit that it came rather easily to him. People were fascinating; complex – but their body language, the thick, heady presence that accompanied all emotions when felt so strongly – Charles couldn’t imagine how anyone might overlook these signals. He had explained as much to Raven, who had only rolled her eyes and said, “Everything’s so obvious to you, isn’t it, Charles.” 

Years later, after Raven disappeared, Charles had spent many a night mulling over her words, wondering if the reason she had left was hidden somewhere within their meaning. He had never settled on an answer. 

Perhaps his people-reading skills had failed with respect to Raven, Charles thought, pulling himself back out of his sobering reverie, but Erik – Erik felt…safe. Charles wondered if that was possibly the reason he had such little trouble falling back to sleep in the house of an otherwise complete stranger. And he could not remember the last time he had slept so peacefully, either. In fact, why had he even woken up?

Oh – a loud _clack_ of something had woken him up, yes. It had sounded close by, so Charles peered over the side of the bed and found the queen’s ring lying on the floor. It had fallen out of his pocket as he shifted in his sleep. 

Lifting it back up and placing it in the palm of his hands, Charles couldn’t help but wonder why the queen had allowed him to take such a cherished possession with him on a journey she knew he would not return from. She had been quite firm on the matter. 

Well, it _had_ been good luck for him, hadn’t it? 

A sudden irrational compulsion overtook Charles then, to place the ring on his own finger. He had worn rings before, and this one didn’t seem any more impressive than any other, but…well, surely there was no harm. He slipped it onto his ring finger, noting how easily it slid on, even a little large for his own hand. 

_\--porridge, he may not even be hungry—_

He gasped loudly at the sudden manifestation of the words in his mind, as crystal clear as though he had thought them himself. But he had not thought them…yet, they were thoughts all the same. Of this Charles was certain. But whose?

Charles felt a foreign haze of worry materialize at the same time he heard Erik’s footsteps grow closer to the room, and it grew stronger with every step. Erik appeared in the doorway, a faint wrinkle between his eyes the only indication of any concern. 

But he was worried. Charles could _feel_ him, the emotion wholly blanketing him as he hurriedly shoved his ringed hand under the blanket. 

_\--he all right, is he bleeding again? He shouldn’t be, his bandage was fine—_

“I heard you from out there. Has your wound reopened again?” Erik said, Charles reeling at the connection between what he now knew to be Erik’s thoughts, and his words. 

Charles locked eyes with Erik, hearing a brief notion of _incredibly blue_ before he shook the ring off of his finger under the blanket, jamming it back into his pocket. All of Erik’s thoughts and emotional auras stopped immediately. 

“I’m fine, I just…” Charles began, but Erik had already made his way over to the bed and was checking his wound, pushing aside Charles’ shirt without a moment’s hesitation. 

“Erik!” Charles cheeks were burning, nearly all thoughts of the ring pushed from his mind. “I said I was fine! I simply had, ah…a bad dream. I’m sorry for worrying you, my friend.” 

Erik lingered on his bandage for a few more moments, evidently skeptical of his assurance, but slowly let his eyes meet with Charles’, his face now unreadable. 

In the clear light of day, the first thing Charles found himself noticing was that Erik was quite handsome. There was a rugged, masculine charm to him, all sharp, defined angles complementing a gentle strength in his bright, slate-gray eyes. A reddish stubble peppered his chin. 

Charles started when he realized he had been staring. 

He hastily shifted his glance to the side, feeling strangely flustered. Clearing his throat, he turned back to face the other man. 

“If I recall correctly, you said that ‘tomorrow’ you would tell me exactly what happened?” Charles asked, folding his hands in his lap. “You can imagine my own memories are a bit vague.” Erik nodded.

“I have a few questions of my own.” He replied, standing up and crossing his arms. “What exactly did you think you were doing, attempting to battle a full-grown dragon when you clearly lack the skills necessary for such combat? It’s obvious you have not held a sword for many years.” 

Charles was taken aback at Erik’s straightforwardness, a little stung at how easily the other man had read the truth. He opened his mouth to respond, but Erik continued, unabated:

“Is that enchanted fountain’s water so important to you?” 

Charles stilled, unsure of how to answer. Informing a stranger that the queen herself had sent him on a quest to retrieve it seemed an unwise decision. 

“…Yes.” He settled on, after a pause, and watched Erik’s nostrils flare slightly in irritation. 

“I see.” Erik said, his eyes narrowing. “Enough to mindlessly throw your life away for.”

At this, Charles bristled. Who was this man to repeatedly sweep aside his questions so he might judge Charles on something he had no understanding of?

“Think what you will,” he snapped. “I believe I am still owed an explanation of why I didn’t have to throw my life away after all.”

Erik’s eyes remained narrowed as he leaned against the doorway, his gaze trained on Charles. Finally he looked away, expression a little distant, as though he was recalling the event. 

“I was hunting when I saw the pillars of smoke in the sky. There was far more than normal. And then I heard the dragon bellow loud enough to shake the trees. I wasn’t far, so I decided to investigate.” He said, frowning a little. 

“Once I approached the cavern, I saw you in the coils of its tail. I used this as a distraction – I took my own sword and pierced the point where its tail meets its back. I had reason to believe it had a weak spot there. After that, I brought you back here and tended to your wounds.” Erik then lifted his head to catch eyes once more with Charles, who was staring at him, open mouthed. “Another moment and you would have been dead.”

But Charles took no note of his accusatory glare, still gaping at Erik. “You had _reason to believe_ it had – Erik, that’s incredible. How could you know such a thing?”

Erik raised an eyebrow. “I’ve fought that dragon before,” he said casually, as though it were conversation over tea. “For training purposes.”

“For—you—” Charles stuttered, incredulous. “Erik, who _are_ you?”

Erik stiffened, suddenly seeming to look anywhere but at Charles. “Just a retired metalsmith living in the woods.”

Charles knit his brow at him before sitting back on the bed, defeated. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in several places. “You saved my life, Erik. I don’t know how to thank you enough.” 

Erik shifted on his feet uneasily. “Any man would have done the same.”

Charles huffed out a laugh. “Any man?” With the intention of getting up, he began gingerly moving his legs over the side of the bed. At once Erik was at his side, arm out to assist him. 

Charles grasped his arm, but did not rise. Instead he gently placed a hand on Erik’s cheek, turning the man to face him. Erik stilled a little, but his expression did not change. 

“Not just any man. A _good_ man would have done what you did. You are a good man, Erik. Thank you.”

For a moment Erik looked pained, eyes darkening; but it passed quickly. 

“What do you know about me?” Erik clasped Charles’ wrist, slowly lowering his hand from his cheek. 

“Nothing.” Charles countered steadily. He ignored Erik’s hand on his wrist, eyes fixed on the other man. “But I’ve seen you do good things. That’s proof enough for me.”

When he did not respond, Charles lightly pulled his hand from Erik’s hold, where he hadn’t yet released him. Charles watched Erik’s face, so utterly solemn. Tilting his head with a smile, he gave a little laugh. 

“Well, I suppose you could argue that I didn’t really _see_ you do all of those good things, as I was rather indisposed at the time. But I feel that my being here is rather proof of your noble deeds. I’m almost certain you were clad in shining armor when you came to my rescue,” he said with a wink. 

At this, Erik gave a snort of laughter. “You _were_ in a bit of distress back there, weren’t you?” A corner of his mouth quirked into a roguish smile. “I’m a little insulted you haven’t offered me your handkerchief yet.” 

Charles smirked, giving Erik a light shove to the shoulder. “Now, now, I wouldn’t push it, my friend. You must remain in my good favor for something like that.” 

Erik was grinning now, and Charles couldn’t help but admire how much it brightened his handsome features. He shook his head slightly. What was he doing, thinking such things? 

Luckily Erik seemed not to notice. “Are you hungry?” he asked, extending a hand to Charles.

Charles smiled brightly. “Starving.” He took Erik’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. Erik’s arm began going around Charles’ back to carry him to the kitchen, but Charles had hopped up on one foot and Erik’s arm unbalanced his efforts to stay upright.

“Oh—” Charles had begun to fall forward but Erik was there to steady him, catching him around the middle as he fell against the other man with a soft “ _oof._ ” 

Charles suddenly found his face pressed into Erik’s shoulder, his hand flat against the other’s man chest where he had thrown it out to steady himself. While he was by no definition petite, Erik was a good bit taller and broader; the solid muscle under his hand made that quite obvious. In what was becoming a maddeningly frequent occurrence, Charles felt his face flush bright red. 

“Thank you, my friend,” Charles said, trying not to focus on the arm wrapped around his waist. “While I appreciate you being my personal transporter, I was rather hoping I could make a crutch of that knotted stick I was using before we made our memorable acquaintance the other night.”

When he didn’t immediately hear an answer, Charles glanced up in time to notice Erik staring at him. At his…lips? But Erik’s eyes flickered away so quickly Charles was sure he had imagined it. How unseemly for him to be attributing such improper behavior to his friend! Truly, these absurd thoughts of his had to stop. 

“I’ll get it if you can promise to keep your weight off that ankle.” Erik’s voice cut into his mental self-admonishment.

Charles smiled up at him, hopping away on one foot to lean back on the bed. “That’s exactly what I intend to use it for.” 

And after Erik had brought him the walking stick, and they had sat down to enjoy a steaming bowl of porridge, the ring remained in Charles pocket, all but forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot, it thickens! Sorta!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know Erik seems to be leaving Charles with more questions than answers.

The next few days found Charles in continued recovery, very carefully keeping his weight off of his ankle, and growing quite adept at using the knotted stick to help conduct himself about the cabin. Erik carried on tending to his various bruises and cuts, monitoring their improvement watchfully. All of Charles’ attempts to express his gratitude to the other man were dismissed by a disinterested wave of his hand. 

It went beyond modesty, Charles noted – Erik simply didn’t like being thanked. He could see it in the nearly imperceptible knitting of his brow whenever Charles tried; in the sudden brusque or evasive quality his words would take on. 

Erik carried a heavy guilt within him, one he thought was bottled away where no one might see it. But Charles could see better. 

Charles wasn’t sure when exactly he had begun committing to memory every little piece of information he could observe about his new companion. Or why exactly, either. More than once Charles found himself tempted to use the inexplicable magic of the queen’s ring to discern everything he wanted to know about Erik, but the sheer invasiveness involved in the act stopped him every time.

Yet he couldn’t help but be fascinated with his inscrutable friend, whose talents seemed limitless; Erik was highly educated, and well read in all of the classics, often in their original languages. When he had been a metalsmith, Charles learned, he had specialized mostly in blades, and Charles had marveled at the technique and artistry evident in Erik’s personal sword and dagger (the latter of which he recognized as the one Erik had nearly used against him). He was accomplished in combat and swordfighting, and kept his skills and strength in top condition by training nearly every morning (not that Charles would sometimes surreptitiously watch him through the window). 

And he was kind; his touch always feather-light, his gaze always gentle whenever he looked at Charles. Conversations with him often lasted for hours, the flickering of the candle threatening to drown in its own pool of wax the only indication of time gone by. Charles even found himself telling Erik about his many adventures with Raven, a topic he deemed expressly forbidden in his own home. 

But Erik was easy to talk to, his eyes always riveted on Charles when he spoke, as though he were genuinely engrossed in every word. And Charles admired Erik’s carefully structured responses, watching as the other man would steeple his fingers, formulating the precise words for his purposes. 

And there was the way he might run his thumb over his lower lip when contemplating his next move over the chessboard Charles had been delighted to discover under his bed. Or how he would wordlessly prepare a pot of tea before Charles would even ask, often enjoying a steaming cup with him in an amiable silence. 

Charles was mildly horrified to realize, one temperate evening, that he never really wanted to leave. 

He quickly tamped down the enticing vision boldly beginning to piece together in his mind, of a life where he simply stayed with Erik in his cozy little cabin forever, all his duties to his kingdom and the White Queen inconsequential as a leaf spiraling in the wind. 

But, startling as it was, he had to admit that the past few days had been the happiest he could remember since Raven had left. 

“—les? It’s your move, Charles.” 

Charles jumped at the sound of Erik’s voice, shaking his head a little as he peered down at the chessboard set up between them. He determinedly ignored the heat rising in his cheeks. Again he was off thinking ridiculous things. Avoiding what was almost certainly a concerned stare from Erik, Charles distractedly grabbed a pawn and moved it several places. 

A moment too late he realized the thoughtlessness of the move. Erik raised an eyebrow as he moved his bishop, putting Charles in check. 

“Honestly Charles, it’s almost as though you’re letting me win. Do I come off so poor a player that you think I need your charity?” 

Charles smirked, moving his king to safety. “I’m just being the better man, Erik. I may be a little rusty since I last played with Raven, but anyone could see which of us is the superior player. I’m only trying to boost your confidence.”

Erik’s smile grew a little sad, as it always did whenever Charles mentioned Raven. He wondered what Erik’s family must have been like. Following his gaze revealed the other man staring at Charles’ white queen, almost wistfully. 

But the moment was over quickly, as most of these stolen little glimpses were. Erik looked up at Charles, displaying his teeth in a devilish grin. 

“Brave words from the man I found caught in a dragon’s tail mere days ago.” 

Charles’ mouth fell open in indignation. “That—” he began, but Erik was already laughing. 

“Or perhaps rightly so. I did see that sword piercing the beast’s foot, after all.” Through his teasing, Charles recognized the unmistakable hint of pride in Erik’s voice. 

“Ah, yes, well,” he acknowledged with a chuckle, “I assure you I accomplished that with no small amount of difficulty.” 

“I could have guessed that.” Erik’s eyebrows were raised in amusement. Turning away from the chessboard, Erik stretched, angling left and right. An almost negligible wince caught Charles’ attention, as he watched Erik rub his back as though soothing a cramp. 

Charles wondered if perhaps Erik had overtaxed himself while training before the embarrassing truth sunk in. He had rather appropriated Erik’s bed during his stay, and Erik had been left to use the chair covered in furs before the hearth. No doubt sleeping on the cramped chair every night was taking its uncomfortable toll. Charles could hardly conceal his guilt. 

“Oh, Erik,” he murmured, feeling wholly reprehensible, “How utterly thoughtless of me. I’ve stolen your bed away and left you to make do with an armchair.”

Erik removed his hand from his back, where he had been massaging it distractedly. He raised an eyebrow at Charles.

“I might remind you which of us is recovering from several life-threatening injuries?” he said, his gaze trailing down to Charles’ splint. 

“At this rate you’ll be the one needing to recuperate!” Charles countered. “It can’t be good for you to spend every night on that chair, my friend.”

“And what would you suggest I do?” asked Erik dryly. “Banish _you_ to the chair? You’re in no condition to sleep there.”

Charles bit his lip, knowing Erik was right. He fingered a loose thread on his borrowed tunic. There _was_ one other option, of course. 

“Your bed is big enough for the both of us,” Charles said firmly, although he couldn’t quite pin down why he was swallowing a nervous gulp. 

Erik stilled. “There’s no need for that,” he said, after a moment. “The chair is fine for now.”

“For now,” Charles echoed, frowning at the other man’s stubbornness. “And how long is that? Until you’re hobbling around, hunched over like a grandfather? We can share the bed, Erik.” 

Erik stared at Charles, his blue-grey eyes reflecting an intensity that held him entirely captive. Charles felt his heartbeat drum a little faster. 

“All right,” Erik finally said, after what felt like hours. Then, a smile. “I’m surprised you’re willing to share a bed with me given what happened the last time you woke me up.” 

“Ah, well,” said Charles, recovering with a wry little smirk, “I’m sure we can blame that little indiscretion on having slept so uncomfortably.” 

Erik gave a short laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are impossible.” 

“Thank you,” Charles replied graciously, grabbing the walking stick and standing up to stretch. “Now, all this talk of sleeping has rather left me tired. I think I may turn in for the night. I trust we can finish this riveting match tomorrow?” he said, gesturing towards the chessboard. 

Erik crossed his arms, still smiling. “Certainly,” he replied.

Charles gave him a nod and then began making his way over to the bedroom perhaps a little briskly. Truth be told, he wasn’t very tired at all. In fact, the rather steady thrum of his heart nervously pounding in his chest left him feeling quite awake. But he felt it somehow necessary to avoid facing Erik when both would be settling in bed, mere inches apart. 

Charles took a cloth, dipped in the small bowl of water on the sill, and dragged it over his face, vigorously shaking his head back and forth. He was being foolish. Sharing a bed was hardly uncommon among family and friends. Charles couldn’t count the number of times he and Raven had cuddled close together, her head resting on his shoulder as he read a book to her or to himself, lulling them both to sleep. 

Well. This was a bit different from that, of course. Erik was certainly not his sister. And ‘friend’ felt like a bit of an understatement when one considered that Erik had saved his life by attacking a fire-breathing dragon. 

And therein lie the problem, Charles realized. What he really wanted to avoid was Erik somehow discovering how truly fond of him Charles had grown. A ‘fond’ he couldn’t really relate to any affection he had ever felt for his family or friends. 

Charles lay down on the bed, arranging himself under the covers. He listened to the wood creak as Erik got up to wash their plates from supper, and then heard the sharp, metallic scrape of his dagger as he sharpened it on a whetstone. Several minutes of silence passed until Charles heard Erik get up, snuff out the candles, and make his way into the bedroom. 

Quickly Charles shut his eyes and turned to the wall, feigning sleep. Erik creaked across the floor very slowly, clearly taking pains to remain quiet as possible. Charles heard a splash of water from the sill across the room, the rustling of cloth, and then felt the bed dip as Erik settled in next to him. He was close enough for Charles to feel the other man’s warmth radiating against his back. 

Suddenly Charles was seized once more with the irrational impulse to put on the ring. There was no logic to it, no rationale for such a foolish compulsion (suppose the ring’s magic was different this time?), but the idea was simply too tempting. He grasped it in his pocket; cool against his hand, then felt his finger slide into it before he could rationalize all the reasons he really ought not to.

He was completely unprepared for the wave of tenderness and affection that immediately washed over him, combining with so many threads of mixed emotions, braiding into a _happy-protect-alone-gentle-peace-quiet- **alone**_ so touching and palpable that Charles had to push the ring off and jam it into his pocket before Erik could likely hear his heart pounding against his chest.

Charles shifted to face the ceiling, carefully steadying his breathing so Erik wouldn’t suspect anything. He lifted a hand to his heart, feeling its beat gradually return to normal.

It was impossible to describe exactly how he knew, but of two things Charles was sure: 

First, he had felt the unmistakable whisper of uncertainty accompanying the other man’s tumult of thought, a hesitance complementing every joyful sentiment. 

Second, all of it had been directed at Charles. 

“Goodnight, Erik.” Charles found himself saying, his voice coming out a little shakier than he’d have liked.

The pause that followed lasted nearly a full minute. But then—

“Goodnight, Charles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god erik and charles you suck even _I'm_ getting bored with your clueless asses
> 
>  _anyway_ , thanks again MORE THAN ANYTHING to those who have been reading! all the internet hugs! also I...I'm so sorry but updates after this won't be quite as speedy, due to real life and also because I technically haven't finished writing it yet :| (BUT I HAVE IT ALL PLANNED OUT. I SWEAR.) But I promise I won't leave you hanging with a FOREVER WIP. because that would make me _such_ a jerk. ON MY HONOR.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik has a few questions of his own. ("Sleep well, Charles?" isn't one of them.)

The sudden absence of warmth nudged Charles partially out of his slumber, a small sound of protest escaping his lips at the unwelcome chill. He had been so _comfortable_. His hand fumbled about blindly to reclaim his heat source. 

His palm settled on what was ostensibly the warmth he was looking for. But it wasn’t a blanket; rather, it was something decidedly more solid, and…alive. 

Charles’ eyes flew open and he blinked blearily, struggling to focus on the immediate object in front of him. When his vision cleared, he recognized his hand resting on another man’s chest. 

Oh. 

Charles quickly shifted backwards, lifting his gaze to find Erik paused, positioned as though in the middle of withdrawing from his arrangement on the bed. His eyes met momentarily with Charles’, and then slowly dropped to Charles’ hand, still situated on his chest. Somewhere the back of his mind Charles noted that Erik did not wear a shirt to bed. 

He further observed that sometime in the night he had rearranged himself so his head was substituting Erik’s outstretched arm for a pillow. The residual warmth on his waist seemed to indicate that Erik’s other arm, currently suspended inches away, had been situated there only moments ago. 

This time Charles felt the reddening of his face entirely warranted as he hurriedly withdrew his hand, fully awake now, and scrambled backwards rather ineffectively in the tangle of bed sheets. He couldn’t help but grimace slightly as his ribs ached with the abrupt movement. Erik sat up as well, eyes narrowing in concern.

“T-terribly sorry, my friend,” Charles stammered, “I do, ah, tend to move around quite a bit in my sleep, it’s always been an awful habit of mine…” his rambling apology died in his throat when Erik’s hand returned to his waist. Charles jerked his head up, his breath catching on a sharp inhale.

But Erik wasn’t looking at him. Rather, he was inspecting Charles’ bandage intently, checking for any further injury. Satisfied, he raised his head back to Charles and stilled upon meeting eyes with him. 

Charles imagined he must look quite a mess. His hair was utterly disheveled, as were his clothes; his borrowed shirt was hopelessly rumpled, doggedly sliding off his shoulder. His chest was faltering up and down as he struggled to keep his drumming heartbeat in check. He hoped fervently that he wasn’t still red as a beet, though he wouldn’t have bet on it.

Something in Erik’s expression changed, although Charles couldn’t quite identify what. For one terrible moment Charles thought that his friend had somehow worked out the truth behind his blushes and flimsy excuses, but Erik instead leaned forward, close enough for Charles to feel the other man’s breath ghosting his lips. His hand had lowered to Charles’ hip.

“Are you all right?” Erik asked, his voice low and oddly rough. 

The memory of Erik’s conflicted emotions from the previous night flickered past his awareness almost imperceptibly; far more distracting was the sear of Erik’s palm on his side like a brand, smoldering and possessive. Charles opened his mouth to respond, but all his words remained caught in his throat. 

Instead he felt himself moving inexorably closer to Erik, and he was surely not imagining the other man doing the same – his hand found its way back to Erik’s chest as the other man pulled him closer, and Erik’s breath was now hot against his lips, a hair’s breadth away – 

A loud _snap_ of what sounded like a tree branch jolted the two apart instantly. In a flash Erik was up, crouched into a defensive stance. His hand flew to the hilt of his dagger on the bedside table. 

Charles blinked when he saw the blade appear to shift ever so slightly toward Erik’s hand, seemingly of its own volition. He had little time to dwell on this odd illusion before the noise of an unruly rustling of leaves pushed it from his mind.

Through the window, Charles got an impression of deep blue feathers receding into the sky, branches bobbing slightly with the sudden departure. One was broken, hanging loosely by a thin strip of bark.

“The blue raven!” Charles gasped, ungracefully jumping up on one foot and hopping around Erik over to the window. But the raven was long gone, as seemed to be her wont. Charles gripped the sill, a little exasperated. Why was she here? Had she been looking for him? 

“Charles?”

He jumped a little at the sound of his name, and turned to face Erik, keeping his palms on the windowsill for balance. Erik was still poised for attack, his hand grasping his dagger at his side, but his eyebrows were knit in confusion. He stood slowly, making his way over, and looked outside at the broken branch. He shifted back to Charles, eyes questioning. 

“The blue raven?” 

He was standing quite close, and Charles cast his eyes anywhere but Erik; suddenly all he could recall was the single point of blazing heat emanating from Erik’s hand at his hip only moments ago; face close enough for Charles to notice a spot he’d missed shaving; the dizzying thrill he felt overwhelming every faculty; the shallow breaths—

“ _Charles_.” 

The sharp repetition of his name brought Charles back to his good senses, and he clenched his fingers into the wood beneath his palms, chagrined.

He forced himself to face Erik, whose piercing eyes belied an otherwise impassive expression. Worrying his teeth on his lower lip, Charles picked his words delicately, aware that his story was an especially strange one. 

“Not long ago I came upon a raven whose feathers were blue instead of black,” he began cautiously, “and who seemed to posses some capacity for magic. Because…” Here he hesitated, sure that Erik would think him completely mad. But Erik looked expectant, and once more, despite having no real assurance, Charles trusted him. 

“Because…she could speak. As a human could.” He waited for Erik to scoff at him, or perhaps curl his lip in disdain, but Erik did nothing. In fact, he still looked rather expectant. 

“And…?” he said, simply cocking an eyebrow. 

He found himself slightly taken aback at Erik’s complete indifference to his explanation, though he’d been the one to trust his friend to believe him. Perhaps Erik himself was no stranger to magic…? Rather unusual for a reserved metalsmith, retired and living deep in the woods…but the other man was waiting, and Charles shook his head and continued: 

“She helped me find…something I was looking for.” He finished, feeling a twinge of guilt for being so transparently vague, but knowing the ring was not a topic he could broach just yet.

His sour conscience did not go unobserved. Erik’s eyes darkened, and he moved closer. Charles felt his back press against the windowsill. 

“And what were you looking for?” Erik asked, probing uncharacteristically. Charles wondered briefly on the unspoken agreement he had reached with Erik as of late, where neither would pry too deeply into the other’s past – but here was he was, cornered against the wall in what was beginning to feel like an interrogation. 

“Erik…” he murmured, hoping the other man might read his reluctance, but Erik was steadfast. The sill now dug uncomfortably into his back as Erik leaned closer.

“Was it another impossible pursuit you were planning to throw your life away for?” Erik’s tone held equal parts frustration and concern, and Charles’ eyes widened almost comically. 

“Erik!” he said, stunned and perhaps a little touched by his friend’s regard for him, “Of course not. Why would you…no. I was never in any danger – just searching for an item that the blue raven was able to help me find.” Erik was withdrawing, now looking a little guilty himself. 

“Don’t worry yourself over it, my friend.” Said Charles soothingly, tilting his head fondly at Erik, who had gone to retrieve Charles’ makeshift crutch for him. Charles gratefully accepted it, exhaling with relief as he placed his tired weight on it. 

“What do you think she wanted?” Erik asked, placing his dagger back onto the small bedside table, and pulling his tunic back over his head. 

Charles frowned in consideration, absently trying to smooth a wayward curl. “I was wondering the same thing myself.” He glanced once more at the broken branch through the window. 

Erik muttered something, sheathing his dagger back into his belt. Charles couldn’t quite make out his words, though it had sounded rather like a grumble of annoyance. 

“Pardon?” he asked, but Erik shook his head. 

“Nothing. Come, help me peel potatoes for breakfast.” 

“Of course,” Charles’ grinned, beginning to make his way over to the kitchen. “I’m famished.” 

But sitting at the table, discarding potato skins into a metal basin, Charles had not forgotten the moment that had passed, however briefly, between them. He was certain he had been seconds away from doing something rather… _untoward_ , and pondered what on earth had come over him. And why he was having such difficulty ignoring the hint of disappointment that they’d been interrupted. 

Well. This simply would not do. Presently he would have to explain to Erik his persisting duties to the White Queen and to King Sebastian. And when he did that he would accordingly leave his friend and his cozy, wonderful little cabin that Charles had already begun to think of as home, more than the vast estate bearing his own name awaiting him back in his kingdom. 

Surely waiting a few days more would do no harm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **ONCE UPON A UST: A UST FAIRYTALE** BY SEVENPM (possibly the new title)
> 
> uhh I'M NOT DEAD. Things I am: busy. I know right, so lame. But, hope you guys enjoy this chapter!


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